“Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever, One foot in sea, and one on shore, To one thing constant never: Then sigh not so, but let them go, And be you blithe and bonny, Converting all your sounds of woe Into Hey nonny, nonny!
“Sing no more ditties, sing no more, Of dumps so dull and heavy; The fraud of man was ever so, Since summer first was leafy: Then sigh not so, but let them go, And be you blithe and bonny, Converting all your sounds of woe Into Hey nonny, nonny!”
“By my troth, a good song!” said the Prince. “Balthasar, I pray you get us some excellent music, for to-morrow night we would have it at the lady Hero’s chamber-window.”
“The best I can, my lord.”
“Do so; farewell.... Come hither, Leonato,” said Don Pedro, when the young musician had retired. “What was it that you told me of to-day—that your niece Beatrice was in love with Signor Benedick?”
“Go on,” whispered Claudio. “We shall catch our bird. I did never think that lady would have loved any man,” he added aloud, for Benedick’s benefit.
“No, nor I neither,” said Leonato; “but it is most wonderful that she should so doat on Signor Benedick, whom she has in all outward behaviour always seemed to abhor.”
“Is it possible? Sits the wind in that corner?” murmured the astonished Benedick in his hiding-place.
“By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to think of it, but that she loves him frantically,” continued Leonato. “It is past the bounds of belief.”
“Has she made her affection known to Benedick?” asked Don Pedro.